Degenerate
by GreatSardonicismKing
Summary: I can't tell anymore... Is it me moving my hand, or is it the strings?


"Don't think I don't hate you."

**"Thief King, so long as you do as I bid, I don't care how you feel."**

"Neither do I. But it is time I said it. I hate you."

**"Yes, I heard that."**

"You have manipulated me."

**"Yes."**

"You have twisted my truth."

**"Yes."**

"I cannot even tell what the truth is anymore."

**"That is the idea."**

"And you use me. I do not know what are my actions and what are your puppet strings."

**"Go on."**

"I hate you."

**"You hate many things."**

"Yes... I hate quite a bit."

**"That is why I am here. I am your own fault. I use your hatred."**

"You are using it right now."

**"That is right. But look at where it has gotten you. Look, Akhenaden. Right at your fingertips. You may have your revenge."**

"...I like that."

**"Of course you do... Now stop focusing on me. Be mindful of him. He deserves _whatever_ we inflict on him. And our full attention as we do so."**

I blinked at the words of the Dark One. I probably should. Yes, focus. Focus.

The shadows spilled over my body. That is nothing new. I _was_ the Shadows. And I would show the one at my mercy exactly what that meant.

"I want him dead."

**"Dead?"**

"Yes."

**"Are you so sure?"**

"Cease speaking abstract questions to me! I want him dead!"

**"Dead, but not suffering?"**

"I will make him suffer. I will make it slow. Oh so very slow..."

**"You know that even that won't be enough."**

A growl rose in my throat. I had him. I had him right here. The power of the Millennium Ring left him at my disposal. How could I not be expected to attack? How? I hated. I hated him. I wanted to do _something_ for this hate. Finally, after all of these years, I simply wanted to _do_ something. I... _needed_ to do something.

"Nothing will ever be enough. Nothing will ever make up for Kul Elna..."

**"Oh, but we can make it very, very close."**

"You are so sure of this, are you?"

**"Yes."**

"Then... he is yours, my Master. Take him."

This was how it was, wasn't it? This was how I would always be.

I am a toy. A tool. A puppet.

And who was he?

The Dark One. The Destroyer. The Master.

_My_ master.

This was only one of the many times Zorc Necrophades manipulated me, but it was the most eye-opening. That was, when the blindfold on truth was finally allowed to be removed. The gag released from reason.

It's... funny, actually. Kul Elna, my village, my mother, father, sister... I watched them die before my eyes. I knew precisely who was responsible. I knew who was walking away with the blood of ninety-nine dead thieves on his hands and never punished.

It was Akhenaden, the man I now held at my fingertips.

Now all I had to do was make the final move to act on this opportunity.

All of this I knew then as Zorc whispered sweetly into my ears, the deadly intentions always masked behind his eloquent words.

So, why didn't act on it? Wasn't it what I had been promised? Sworn to be given when I had first contracted souls with this demon?

Of course it was. It _was_...

_"I want him dead."_

**_"Dead, but not suffering?"_**

Zorc, you beautiful weaver of manipulation. Your webs wrapped around me like a gentle, calming blanket. Your almost seductive words opened dangerous, fatal opportunities that made any mortal crumble with desire, leaving them putty in your dark fingers. Any mortal, including myself. So, I took your words, or should I say lies, to heart, and gave you everything I had. All that I had left.

After all, what was else a toy to do but follow you?

_Take Akhenaden. Take him, just promise he will suffer. Who cares for justice? I want vengeance. _

That was how it was, and how it would be. From the beginning, to the end.

_Take my works. Take them, just promise you'll use them to tear Egypt apart. Who cares for purity? I want this nation to feel what I felt in my village._

How it was, and how it always would be.

_Take my body. Take it, just promise he'll be destroyed. Who cares for the spirits of Kul Elna? I want the power of the Pharaoh._

How it always, always was. How it always would be.

_...Take my soul. Take me, just promise it will end. Who cares for this shrivel of a man I dare to call myself? I have been licked dry._

How it was, and how it would be...

How it _will _be.

Toys, playthings, tools, puppets. You take them, play with them, and when they outgrow their usefulness, you discard them. Welcome to the reality that people refuse. It is easy to be someone's puppet. It is even easy to be the master.

But why is so difficult to be... you?

So here I stand, the puppet _and_ the puppet master. As Zorc whispers in my ear, I pass on my words to my own toy, sometimes even fooling myself into being blissfully unaware that the role is reversed on me. Happily trapped within a never ending cycle of my ambition. And here I will continue to stand, until it is finally time for an end.

And the end is what I beg for every night.


End file.
